


mind control (or lack thereof)

by acrushonesmeralda, MiriRainbowitz



Category: Jessica Jones (TV), Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrushonesmeralda/pseuds/acrushonesmeralda, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiriRainbowitz/pseuds/MiriRainbowitz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kilgrave walks into the brewpub. Shit happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	mind control (or lack thereof)

The hairs on the back of Eliot’s neck prickle, and Eliot quickly shifts his grip on the knife from “cutting onions” to “cutting Yakuza”. He slowly turns around to see that a guy – tall, white, skinny, well dressed – has entered the brewpub, and Eliot _really_ doesn’t like the way he’s surveying the people in the room, like he’s looking for someone to use. It reminds him of Moreau, and that thought is enough to send a shiver up Eliot’s spine.

The guy’s eyes land on Eliot, and he walks – no, saunters – over to the counter. “You’d like to make me a plate of pasta amatriciana,” he says, and Eliot just raises an eyebrow.

“No, I wouldn’t,” Eliot replies shortly, internally berating himself for being a little bit rude. Normally, his response to a customer asking for something that’s not on the menu would be apologizing that that dish isn’t on the menu, as well as an offer to make something similar that is on the menu, but something about this guy has his hackles raised.

The guy actually leaned back slightly, a shocked look on his face, before leaning back in. “Make me a pasta amatriciana,” he repeats, enunciating every word, his British accent more pronounced.

“It’s not on the menu,” Eliot countered, almost as slowly. He made sure to keep eye contact with the guy, so he wouldn’t give away Parker’s presence as she dropped from the ceiling behind the guy. Even though everyone else in the restaurant clearly saw her, they were all regulars – they were used to this kind of stuff.

As unnoticeably as she’d descended, Parker zipped back up. Eliot caught a glimpse of a cell phone being tucked into her shirt. The guy, completely oblivious to Parker’s theft, leaned back, a creepy yet delighted grin spreading across his face. “Oh, this is a treat,” he says. “You’re immune to me! That’s –”

Eliot promptly grabs the back of his head and slams his face into the bar. The guy, thankfully, stops talking, mostly because he’s unconscious. Eliot doesn’t even bother reassuring everyone else in the restaurant; they’re regulars, they’re used to this by now, and they’ve all started turning back to their meals anyway.

Now all he has to do is get rid of this guy.

 

Kilgrave wakes up, soaking wet, with a pounding headache. As he sits up, his surroundings come into focus – apparently, he’s been left out in a field, in the rain. He staggers to his feet and makes for the nearest tree to get some cover from the rain.

He reaches into his pocket for his cell phone, but he finds nothing. A quick patdown reveals that he’s got nothing on him – no phone and no wallet, and they took his jacket, which contained some spare cash. _Well, fuck_.

He looks around, but there’s no signs of civilization, only bare earth dotted with trees as far as the eye can see. He picks a random direction and starts walking, hoping to find a road.

It’s dark by the time he reaches a farm, and Kilgrave is cold, hungry, soaked to his bones, and more miserable than he’s ever been. He’s honestly too weak to even order the young couple around, even though they do take quite good care of him.

As he sits in front of the fireplace, drinking a mug of hot tea, the phone rings. The woman answers it, then turns to him and says, “It’s for you.”

For some reason, Kilgrave feels a slight shiver of dread, but still answers the phone. “Hello?”

“The tracker indicates that you’re about 17 miles outside of Portland,” comes the voice of the immune man. “Keep going. Never come back.”

There’s a click as the man hangs up, and Kilgrave slowly puts down the phone. For the first time in his life, he’s met someone scarier than him, and he has no desire for revenge.

 

“Shit, Eliot, that gave _me_ the chills,” Hardison says.

“Sophie gave me some tips,” Eliot says, a small but happy smile appearing on his face.

“Well, I think you scared him away,” Parker says.

“I hope so,” Eliot replies. “I’ve heard about people like him, and from what I can tell, he’s especially dangerous. Besides, he’s got no taste – amatriciana sauce is one of the worst sauces ever.”

“So I guess we’ll never be serving it?” Hardison asks.

“Damn well right we’ll never serve it,” Eliot growls, then stalks toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you couldn't tell, Eliot is immune to Kilgrave. We're honestly not sure why or how, or if he's immune to other stuff.


End file.
